


Free as a Bird (In a Gilded Cage)

by Wodahn



Series: Hawke Family Trainwreck [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Divergent, F/F, I swear this started as a 1k drabble and now there's no end in sight, Kicking parts of canon in the balls, Mage-positive, Multi, Pirates, Polyamory, Save Me, Spirits, The Author Regrets Everything, The Fade, Why this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 10:39:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6953305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wodahn/pseuds/Wodahn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life moves on, much as one might hate it. People die, but the world carries on, unfeeling; the best one can do is manage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free as a Bird (In a Gilded Cage)

**Author's Note:**

> save me this is gonna be my first multichapter thing and it's so long already

Brand and Stroud manage to get away from the spider - just barely. By then, however, the rift is already shut, and they’re trapped there with no way out. The Fade warps around them as they take this in, changing and reflecting their emotions back at them, craggy despair and hopelessness and sorrow.

_Ciaran_ , thinks Brand - he’s left her behind now, left her alone, one of a pair with none to match. _At least she has Merrill and Isabela_. Stroud shouts, then, as a spirit draws near, perhaps drawn by their emotions or maybe just their mere presence. Brand has little experience with the fade, less than what a Circle mage would have, no matter how much he has spoken to the elf the past few weeks. He’s never been in the fade as Circle mages have, and he knows his disadvantage now.

***

She feels hollow. Empty. It feels like something has torn its way through her chest and left a jagged hole there, one that won’t be filled or healed no matter what she does.

***

They’re given a room in Adamant Fortress. The order is hard-pressed for space, what with having to host the Inquisition army, but Ciaran and her friends are given priority, likely because of a request from the Inquisitor. Ciaran doesn’t really care. Can’t think of anything but the _ache pain shreds_ where her heart feels like it should be. They all end up in a pile anyway, tight and close and shredded and torn.

***

Ciaran goes to Kirkwall with the rest of them, to tell the council of what has happened to their beloved Viscount. She’s brought to meet them all, Aveline and Fenris and Varric at her back. The people of the city haven’t forgotten her, but it can only help to have the captain of the guard supporting her story. It helps her, too, helps her get through the story without breaking down completely, knowing that behind her stands three people who were arguably as close to her brother as she was.

The Tal-Vashoth approaches her, after, giving the name Vatashkaari, and asking if she wanted quarters in the palace, or if she’d find her own. She already knew where she would go - the old estate was too close, held too many memories, as all of their homes did. No; she would wander, and find some place she had no ties to. Maybe later, she’d be able to come back, see the memories without fearing she would break into so many pieces she couldn’t be put back together.

She wants to leave the city as soon as possible, but the council wants her to stay, at least until they give him a funeral, body or no.

***

In the end, it makes for an interesting funeral. The Tal-Vashoth care little for the body, apparently - they would be a great deal more interested in Brand’s weapon. The rest of them, though, all have their own rites they wish to carry out. The elves want to carry out what rituals they have reclaimed from their past, to honour Brand as a protector and champion of them, though he was no elf; the humans wish to carry out chantry customs.

In the end, they have a service in the chantry - it hasn’t been abandoned, despite the city’s history -, and those deemed closest to Brand are chosen to carry a casket through the city, to the outside, where it can rest amongst nature. There, the elves speak their words, as the sisters and the mages did in the chantry, before the hole is covered. They sing their songs - elven words and human and qunlat and even some dwarven, all woven together into one whole that makes it feel like a piece of her is shaking loose, or maybe settling in again, and then it’s over.

A stone monument remains - it’s a small thing, truly, not something a ruler would normally be given. But Brand had no joy for the pompousness of wealth and rule, and kept his own simple; they will reflect his wish in death as they saw it in life. A mural is planned for the palace, to show him amongst his people, but beyond that nothing is left but this small tombstone.

_Brand Hawke_

_Beloved family, trusted friend, cherished ruler_

_Draw your last breath, my friends,_

_Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky._

_Rest at the Maker's right hand,_

_And be Forgiven._

_-Trials 1:16_

_9:05 Dragon-9:47 Dragon_

***

She leaves the morning after, Merrill and Isabela and Anders at her side.

***

Brand has no idea how much time has passed. It feels different in the fade, less coherent, less like it matters. He supposes it doesn’t, really. He knows he doesn’t grow hungry or thirsty, though, and wonders if the passing time is shorter than he thinks, or if food and drinks simply aren’t needed in the Fade. He and Stroud decide to explore, keep moving, hoping it might keep the spirits behind them rather than around them.

They find a mirror, one that reminds Brand of the one Merrill had, the one he and Ciaran helped her try to fix. Perhaps there _is_ a way out, if they can only find out how to work the mirror.

It’s a hope, at least.

***

She sees him in her dreams, one night. He’s seated in an ever-shifting landscape, before a mirror that does not reflect him. She tries to reach him, to speak to him, to do _anything_ , but she can do nothing but observe, and then she’s torn away from it, waking with a start, eyes wet with tears. Merrill and Isabela are to either side of her, cradling her, comforting her, as they have since Brand’s death. It is no comfort now, though; she only feels _trapped, caged, captured, wants to get out get out get out get-_

Merrill wakes up, though Ciaran hasn’t moved at all. She takes one look at Ciaran before moving away to let Ciaran out, settling in beside Isabela to wait, but keeping her eyes on Ciaran. Merrill sees more than people think, understands more than they think; she just doesn’t pick up on social cues so easily. But she sees more than Isabela, often, when she knows the person. The eyes are sharp, see much that many miss. Ciaran makes her way outside, hoping the fresh air and open space might make her feel less _trapped despairing broken shredded_

***

He thinks he sees Ciaran for a moment, but when he blinks she’s gone again, and he chalks it up as nothing, returning to his task rather than dwell on it. He didn’t know how to work the mirror; he thought Merrill may have told it once, but that was years ago. For now, he checks to see if it seems broken in any obvious way; his magic behaves differently in the Fade, but he manages to make some elementary checks on the mirror. Its face has no cracks, and he can sense _something_ about it, some magic he is not familiar with, ancient and faded, but still present.

***

She sees him one more time in her dreams, months later. He’s still seated in the same spot, before the mirror, though the landscape around him is different. He’s muttering something, focused on the mirror before him. She can catch snatches, intent, _Eluvian, elves, magic_ , and then she’s torn out of her dream again, cold and covered in sweat, Merrill and Isabela beside her in bed. Merrill is facing her, eyes open and alert, and Ciaran remembers bits of her dream, and decides to ask Merrill about eluvians in the morning. For now, she snuggles closer, and goes to sleep again, hoping to see Brand again. Perhaps he yet lives, or perhaps it’s only the Fade showing her what she wishes for.

***

She asks Merrill about the eluvians, how to work them, explaining her dreams about Brand. Merrill seems curious, believes her words, disjointed as they are. By the end of the day, they’ve convinced Isabela to bring them to the nearest port with a circle and spoken at length with Anders and Justice about the Fade and eluvians.

A few days later, they make harbour in Dairsmuid in Rivain and split up to look for seers who can help them. Merrill goes with Ciaran and Anders with Isabela - Anders can describe Ciaran’s dream better with Justice’s help, whilst Ciaran can help Merrill navigate the city and its people while they look for seers. Dairsmuid is big and labyrinthine, built over centuries; it’s streets wind and writhe their way across the low hills, wooden houses and stone houses practically overlapping. They pass elves and rivaini and qunari as they search, ask some of them. It only takes a few tries before someone offers to show them the way to a seer, and they’re lead towards one of the hills. Soon, they’re standing outside the door of a small stone house. Here, their guide leaves them, after making sure they’ll be fine, and the two of them knock on the door.

A voice beckons them in, and the room inside is brightly lit by windows and an open door on the far wall, leading out to a garden. Out there sits a rivaini covered in elaborate tattoos, dark hair tied up to keep it away from their face. Ciaran and Merrill approach, though the rivaini keeps their focus on the plants they’re working with.

“We were told there was a seer here?” Ciaran finally asks, when the silence has dragged on long enough for her taste.

“You were told correctly” answers the Rivaini “there is a seer here. A mage, too, if my hunch is right.” but the Rivaini says no more than that, continuing to work with the plants before them.

“What do you mean?” now she’s curious; surely nobody could tell so easily, without even looking?

“The elf beside you. She’s a mage - a blood mage, even.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Please. I am no Chantry mage, bound by templars and fear and hindered in my study.” Ciaran had a fair knowledge of the Chantry’s practices by now, after years of travelling with Anders and Justice. She knows the ways the Chantry controls both the mages and the faithful. And oh, how sly they are about it, too. Removing mages from their families at an early age, teaching them nothing that would be useful outside a circle, making them fear themselves and everyone around them. A cruel, if effective practice.

“Well then. I guess that’s proof enough. I need your help with something… unusual.”

***

The seer was unable to help them, but they were directed towards another, who might be more helpful. It takes a while to get there, but when they explained their question to her, she was willing to help however she could.

They stay for weeks in Rivain. Isabela paces and looks out to sea, wanders the town when she’s not with the others. They scour the libraries of Dairsmuid and ask every seer they find. It takes them seven weeks before they decide there’s nothing more in Dairsmuid, and they finally set out to find another place. They head out to Llomerryn, hoping to not get flayed for every sovereign, royal, and andris they own. They had no wish to go there, but the chance there would be mages there who knew something was too high to let up.

***

They’ve managed to attract some spirits. From what he can tell, they hold no intent of evil within them, so he lets them be. They are curious about his and Stroud’s presence in the Fade, can tell the humans are not meant to be there. He does his best to explain what has happened, why they’re there, where they want to go. He thinks the spirits might understand, hopes they do. Hopes they won’t attract demons too.

***

Months later, and they’re in Minrathous, searching for someone to help them read. All the books are in tevene, which none of them know, so they’ve been forced to hire a translator. Buy a translator. Turns out it’s cheaper to buy an elf who knows tevene and the trade tongue and have them translate, than to hire a freeborn translator. A lot cheaper. They promise the slave - Geri - freedom and a way out of Tevinter in return for help reading the books, and promptly learn Geri is illiterate. They really should have expected as much, Ciaran supposes. They set out on a search, using Geri for aid, for a literate translator or slave, and end up buying another slave, this one Qunari and nameless. Apparently the previous owner had only called them “monster”, and Ciaran has to restrain herself from attacking said owner. Geri suggests the name Freki, at Merrill’s gentle prompting, and the qunari seems to accept it. At least, they don’t violently oppose it.

At one point, someone asked to buy Merrill, thinking her a slave and commenting on “how good she’d look under me, all squirming”. Isabela got to the bastard first, leaving him with several knife wounds in the belly.

So after a week of stumbling about Minrathous after finding out all the books of any value are written in tevene, they finally get to read some of it. Freki is quiet most of the time, understanding qunlat and tevene but not the trade tongue, and they have to rely on Geri for translations. Most of the books are no help at all, concerning more the shaping of the fade itself than eluvians, but Tevinter is the oldest imperium still in existence, and so their best chance of being of any help.

They scour every library they can find, but none of the thousands of books yield any good answers. Figures. The really helpful books would likely be hidden away in some magister’s mansion or other, some altus with more power than sense. Ciaran recalls the tevene from Skyhold, and reaches out to try and find him, sending ravens to any place that might yield a helpful answer.

***

It takes a long while before they get any answers. As it turns out, Pavus is off in the Winter Palace in Orlais for some kind of council with the Inquisition. Figures.

***

It was inevitable, really. A pride demon finds the two of them, scattering the lesser spirits there. He wants to explain things, in the hopes of getting help, even if it is from a demon, but Stroud runs ahead and attacks, and there goes that hope.

***

They’ve looked through every resource they can find on eluvians, short of digging up ancient elves in the hopes of finding something. Geri and Freki decided to stay with them. Ciaran doesn’t really know why, but if they prefer it, then she’s not going to force them away. As soon as the group went back to the ship in preparation of leaving, she offered two pouches of assorted currencies, one for each, and explained the offer at Geri’s confused expression. Geri translated for Freki, and neither of them took the offer.

Now, they’re all on the _Siren’s Call,_ Isabela’s flag ship, on their way back to Rivain and the rest of her little fleet to figure out what to do. It’s a small group, but a ferocious and dangerous one. Isabela trusts the captains - enough to let them run wild while she herself was away, at least - and Ciaran trusts Isabela’s judgement of them. Nevertheless, leaving them alone for too long is bound to result in problems, so Isabela wants to check on the group and make sure they still know she’s the boss.

***

Stroud is dead. Brand mourns him, carries the death in his heart. He manages to kill the pride demon in retaliation, but only just. The fight takes a lot out of him. The Fade responds differently to his magic, more volatile, more fluid.

He settles in front of the mirror again, and soon the spirits are back. One of them reaches out, timidly, and he can see and feel some of the lesser scratches close up. It tingles, for lack of a better word, and he thanks the spirit for its help. “Compassion?”, he asks. He senses affirmation. He asks the spirits if they know how the mirror works. The answers are a confusing jumble, and he has to spend a good while deciphering them. a few are yes, a few are no, but most fall outside, _parts_ and _old_ and _someone else_ amongst the answers.

***

The sea is life itself to Ciaran. Often, while they all lived in Kirkwall, she’d go to the harbour or the cliffs, just to sit and listen, to hear the voice of the wind and waves and to smell the salt. Being on a ship is even better - she can feel it’s lullaby beneath her feet, feel it in her whole body. She always wanted to travel, to see more, just as Brand would dig his roots in and make a place _his_ , no matter how soon it was since he got there. She didn’t fault him for it, she could understand it, but it frustrated her some times, that she was chained so to one place, to one person.

She regrets that frustration, now, knows the ache of missing him with no hope of meeting him again. Except there might be a way, if the Maker is merciful. She hopes so, though she’s learned the cruelty of the world well by now.

There’s a storm in the wind, the feel of coming rain. Already the waves are starting to pick up. Ciaran can’t wait. She knows the damage a storm can wreak, the danger of it, but she loves it nonetheless. Sometimes, she’ll stand on the deck with Isabela, just to feel the wind and the spray, no matter how Isabela may complain about it. Sometimes, Freki stands beside her, eyes closed, saying nothing. Sometimes, she stands alone, the rest of the crew mostly asleep.

***

It’s getting easier to understand the spirits, easier to shape the fade. He doesn’t know what it means, but he uses it as best he can to try and fix the mirror. There’s more of them surrounding him now, curious about him. Questions of _why_ and _how_ and _where_ hover in the air and settle in the ground, shaped by the Fade, shaped by the spirits and by Brand. Some are closer than others - the compassion spirit that healed him, a pair of purpose spirits drawn by his stubbornness and drive, and a spirit of justice. He talks to the last one, about how it reminds him of Anders and Justice, about their adventures and misadventures. He doesn’t know if it understands, but it feels good to talk about it, to have _someone_ to talk to.

The compassion spirit asks about the others too, when he mentions them. Perhaps it senses how it makes him happy to talk about them, or perhaps it’s curious. He doesn’t know, but he answers the questions gladly.

***

They’ve made their way to Isabela’s cove, and sent the word out that the captains under her command should gather there. Now, they wait, and see who answers the call and who must be brought into line.

Ciaran, Merrill, Geri, and Freki spend a lot of time exploring with some of the other crewmembers. There’s plenty of animals to hunt, and many edible plants, so they won’t lack for food. Right now, they’re checking on a freshwater spring to make sure the water’s still good.

They’ve been teaching Geri and Freki the ins and outs of sailing for the past weeks while making their way to the cove. Geri has taken to it gladly and Freki… Well, Freki has _done_ it, at least. It’s hard to tell what the qunari likes and dislikes. Feelings don’t seem to be a major factor in what Freki does. Makes sense, Ciaran supposes. Geri, at least, is far more lively and open than when they bought the elf, sometimes pitching in with questions. Isabela and Ciaran had made it very clear to the crew that the pair was to be treated with respect, and the crew, familiar already with Merrill and her quirks, find it easy enough. It helped that Geri and Freki were willing to learn how to pull their weight on the ship, figuratively - and in Freki’s case, quite literally.

The spring is clear and fresh, and they load up as many barrels and waterskins as they can with water. Freki carries almost a quarter of them alone, even when they’re full, arranged across broad shoulders and back, some hanging by straps and some off a thick stick laid across the shoulders. The rest of them divide the water as evenly as possible, and make their slow way down to the ship again. There’s no guarantee the water will stay clean for very long, but it’s better than most of what they’ve had since the last watering spot. This will last them a while, and they’ll restock again before they leave.

After this, Merrill and Geri ask if they can go explore properly. Merrill knows the island well already, but Geri has never been there. Geri ends up tugging Freki along, but Isabela asks Ciaran for help in something, so she has to stay. She tells them to be careful, though. For all its isolation, they never know if something dangerous might lurk, if a rift may have opened sometime during the past few years.

***

The mirror is getting better, he thinks. He managed to attract some older spirits, stronger, more complex. Spirits of invention and discovery and curiosity, of determination, purpose, stubbornness. They help him where they can, guiding his hands and his will and his magic, and he is glad for it. He knows, now, he cannot get home without their aid.

He can sense the magic in the mirror much better, senses its… hum, for lack of a better word. It’s been improving, though he has no idea how much time has passed. Is it still 9:47 Dragon, or is it a new age entirely? Has a day passed, a month, a decade?

He can’t let thoughts like that get to him. It scatters the spirits, and it’ll only make it harder to get home.

***

There was no rift on the island. Geri, Freki, and Merrill return safely, happy from exploring, Merrill chattering away about some story; Ciaran only hears a few words, something about a halla and keeper Marethari. She can hear the joy in Merrill’s voice, can see the open curiosity in Geri’s face. Freki follows impassively, face unmoving, seeming not to care about the recent trip or the story. Ciaran doubts she’ll ever get a read on the qunari.

A week passes before they see the first ship on the horizon. It flies a yellow flag, banded in thin, diagonal lines of red; the _Hissera,_ Asaaranda’s ship, in other words. The tal-vashoth is a good captain, good at keeping order and following orders, so long as the freedom to raid is afforded. Captain Thorne had called Asa a dog once, thinking it an insult, only for the qunari to agree happily. Asa had, after all, first joined crew with a ship full of ferelds.

Ciaran is glad this is the first ship to arrive; she has always liked the tal-vashoth’s company. Asa was an honest one, and had a humour with a penchant for not hurting people despite it’s honesty. A good captain for Isabela to have under her.

The ship enters the cove a few hours later, crew making preparations and running ashore to fetch water and restock. Asa ran a tight ship, and soon the captain appears aboard the _Siren’s Call_ , grinning and shouting for the admiral. For Asa, Isabela is willing to come at a call, as she is willing with very few. Asa has proven to be worth it, many times over by now. The qunari envelops the admiral in a humongous hug, lifting her up in the air and laughing at Isabela’s shouts to be put down, before doing as the admiral orders. Next comes Merrill and Ciaran, embraced less tightly but no less lovingly.

And then happens something very unexpected: Asaaranda freezes. They follow the stare, and see Freki standing there next to Geri, with an actual _expression_. It’s one of shock and wonder and maybe a little bit of hope, and Freki utters a barely-audible “Kadan?” The two of them stand there, frozen, until Geri asks what is going on. Freki seems to snap out of the daze, and explains something in tevene that nobody but Geri can understand. The elf’s mouth drops in shock, before pushing at the qunari’s back in an attempt to force some sort of movement.

And then Freki storms over, nearly leaping onto Asa in… something. Ciaran’s almost worried they’ll have to drag the two apart, before Asa spins around with the momentum and laughs in joy and shock and awe. Asa speaks in qunlat, words flowing free and happy, and Ciaran has to smile at the sight. It’s pretty clear there’s history there, and she’s almost tempted to ask the crew to clear away, when Asa speaks again, this time in the trade tongue.

“Admiral… I’d like to request this one’s transferral to my crew, if I may?”

Isabela smiles, and replies “I think you’ll have to bring that one too, then”, pointing at Geri, who stands there alone. At Isabela’s words, the elf’s head snaps up, ears standing as high as they possibly can. Asa smiles, stating “that’ll be acceptable” and beckoning Geri over. The elf moves as though in a daze, and ends up standing next to the two qunari. Freki is honest-to-Maker _smiling_ now, eyes filled with love and joy at Asa.

“I think you’ll be wanting some time alone, no? How about we take this meeting tomorrow instead, and the two of you can reacquaint yourselves.” Isabela smiles at them, proud and happy, and Asa agrees readily, before bringing everyone back to the _Hissera_.

***

They can see the mirror is repairing. It’s almost complete, now, and soon they can return to the human world again.

***

Within the next few weeks, more ships start to appear, and by the month’s end seven ships are moored in the cove besides the _Siren’s Call_ and the _Hissera_. Of the ships moored, none belong to Captain Thorne. It comes as no surprise, though; he had always chafed at being subordinate to someone, only following Isabela’s orders because he could earn on it. With so many months of freedom, Ciaran would be surprised if he did not decide to strike out on his own again.

No matter. The fereld _Hound of Llomerryn_ had brought enough supplies to last them a good while longer, and they’ve been restocking from the island’s bustling wildlife and plantlife. The _Hound_ had brought word of another two ships on their way, due to arrive any day. The captains had met many a time already, deciding the best course of action - Isabela knows well that the best way to keep raiders on your side is to give them something to raid, and she is planning up territories and areas with them at this moment. Ciaran supposes she should feel bad for it, aiding a raider and smuggler, but she doesn’t really. Better chantry ships armed for war and tevene and antivan ones armed for trade, than her own crew.

***

It doesn’t take long after the _Hound_ ’s arrival before Isabela has reasserted her authority and sent her raiders out again, with orders to help any mages they find, as per usual, and to ask about magical mirrors and eluvians. All the mages on the ships had been asked, but they hadn’t been very helpful. Most of them were battle-mages, chantry-taught and fled, with no knowledge of anything else and little in the way of support system for themselves.

Now they’re on their way to land in Denerim, to make their way to the Brecilian Dalish. Hopefully the elves might know, or connect them to someone who does. They had tried to use Merrill’s eluvian, but the restoration or the first shattering seemed to have knocked it “out of tune” from the others, and it lead only to an empty area, connecting nowhere. Ciaran was worried, too, about staying there too long; who knew what might happen, even if it seemed fine.

They had brought it, though, at Merrill’s insistence. Isabela had been skittish about bringing something large and potentially dangerous - mirrors had a tendency of breaking, after all - until Ciaran had grabbed her sword and smashed the pommel into the eluvian. It stood there, unharmed, leaning against the wall where it had landed, and Isabela had agreed. There was strong magic around that thing, and only equally-strong or stronger magic would pose it any real threat.

***

It is complete. The face of it is the same as it was when it was found, but now the magic within it lays healed and unbroken. They had to funnel some of their own magic into it, some of the fade, and it is a permanent fixture there now.

***

They head to Kirkwall, to visit Varric and Aveline and Fenris. Enough time has passed now that they have mourned, that they can try to see the city without seeing only what it lacks.

Varric has been made the new Viscount. Other nobles had tried, apparently, but the council refused them, wanting someone they knew would work for the city’s best. Aveline stands as the commander of the guard, and Fenris stands by their sides, though he holds no post of his own. Varric complains and complains of all the work he has to do, all the nobles he has to shoot down, the violence he has to quell, but they can all see that the city is better than it was. Aveline runs a tight ship, rooting out any corruption she finds, while also punishing unnecessary violence towards the people; brutality towards mages is struck down on, hard, and the city is slowly growing to be a safe haven for mages. Even now, mages who flee the circles make their way to Kirkwall.

A school of sorts has even been opened. They work some combat magic, true, because that is the only thing most mages know, but they’re also working on discovering other forms of magic. Varric asks the councillors in charge of the school - an elf named Alim and a human named Eileen - that Anders get to teach a little of what he knows about healing. They agree, though Eileen tempers their agreement with wariness and caution. They both remember the explosion of the chantry, Eileen better than Alim, and had Varric not made his assurances about Anders, Ciaran isn’t sure they would have allowed him to teach.

They’re in Varric’s quarters now, drinking and playing games. The rooms are beautiful, with tapestries on the wall, soft furniture in a mix of dwarven style and Kirkwall style, and of course, a well-stocked pantry. Anders is doing tricks with magic that he’s learned from some of the pirate mages he’s met the past years, things like making a bottle look like a bird or making things taste different. He’s not as good as some of the mages he’s met, but they all laugh plenty all the same.

***

They enter the mirror, and end up in a limbo, a little room that leads nowhere. No matter. They remember the magic of the other, and connect the two.

***

They’ve all had plenty of drink when Cymru comes running, panicky and panting. Something’s happened on the _Siren’s call_ , something is going on with the mirror. The rest of the crew is still there, trying to deal with it before it damages the ship. It sobers them all right back up, and they hastily don arms and armour before sprinting through the city after the kid.

The ship is creaking as they run up the gangplank and to where the mirror stands. Even Ciaran can sense the hum of magic around it, and little bolts of energy shoots off it every now and then. Anders swears loudly, Justice coming to the forefront as the two of them approach the mirror. Merrill comes forward too, stepping carefully up towards it, avoiding the bolts of energy as best she can. She and Justice look at each others, and then Justice places a hand on the mirror while Merrill pulls out her staff and starts muttering incantations. The rest of the crew stands a small distance away, ready to attack should something come out, but far enough that the energy won’t hit them.

***

The two are connected now, a small passage between the world of spirits and the world of mortals. They unlock the other from their side, and step through.

***

Justice pulls away from the mirror, yanking Merrill along until the two of them are standing with the others. The mirror gives a last shiver, and something steps through, glowing blue with the magic of it. The shape is humanoid, between a meter and a half and two meters tall.

And then it’s out and the glow fades, leaving a human-like creature, with black beard and hair, glowing ley lines like Justice, and an otherworldly feel to it, something spiritual. It takes a second, and then Ciaran recognizes Brand and rushes over, throwing herself at him. He reacts slowly, embracing her, and then the others are there too.

***

When they exit, a human swiftly rushes at them to embrace them. They find it odd, and part of them supplies that they should do it back at the human. They do, and more people run over to embrace them. They take note of the surroundings, the small wooden room, the people standing nearby with weapons in hand, the elf and the glowing stranger that look at them.

***

Ciaran cries as she holds on to him, and notices how odd he feels. He’s stiff, not molding himself to them as he used to, says nothing. She manages to pull back and look at him, tears in her eyes. The glow hasn’t faded, and Justice says “I think you should step away, Ciaran.” She sees something in Brand, and finally does as told. The others do, too, and Justice steps up, Merrill following closely. Justice asks for a name, and it takes a long while for an answer to return. Finally he states “Brand”, after thinking it over far longer than should have been necessary.

***

The stranger tells the first human to step away from them. The others follow, and the stranger walks up to them, asking their name. What is their name? They are many who are one, and names have not mattered before. One presents itself - who they were before - and they say it. The first human - Ciaran? - looks at them, before stating something.

***

“You’re not Brand.”

The realisation hits her like gravity of force mages, like the entirety of Skyhold and the mountain it stands on has been dropped on her. This stranger isn’t Brand. Maybe it was, but it isn’t anymore. It’s more like Justice was when they first met, near twenty years ago, but somehow worse, because this is _Brand_ , who has stood by her for so long, even when they were oceans apart, even when they hadn’t seen each other for years. She feels like she’s breaking apart, crumbling from within, for good this time.

***

One of the humans tells the people surrounding them to leave, and soon there is only Brand, the group that embraced them, the stranger, and the elf left. The glow of the stranger fades, leaving a human behind, and Brand wonders if it is similar to themself.

“Think it’s safe to bring him up to the keep?” the dwarf asks the new human, who nods, before stating “I think so, yes. I think it’s a little similar to Justice and me, and according to Justice there’s no malice there. I do think we should cover the face - rumours about a lost mage rising from the dead can do a lot of harm.”

They are given pieces of clothing to put on, including one that covers their head. When they have put them on, they are lead out of the small room. They are on a ship, and are lead through a bustling city, up many stairs to end up in a room in the keep at the top of the city.

***

Varric leads them to his own quarters and sits Brand down in a chair, seating himself in another. The rest of them sit or stand or pace. Brand hadn’t been halting on the way up, hadn’t seemed even a little inconvenienced, and the glow had kept up all the way. Ciaran sits in one of the chairs, and Anders walks up to Brand, looking at him intently. The two just look at one another for a long time, before Anders finally asks “What spirits aided you?”

“Determination, purpose, compassion, invention, discovery” replies Brand. There’s little emotion in the words; no anger or curiosity or sorrow, just a sort of detachment.

“Are they with you now?”

“We are they. We are many who are one.” Anders looks troubled, now, and Ciaran understands why. Even now, years and years after the fact, Anders and Justice could be unstable some days. Merging several spirits and binding them to a single person? It was bound to turn bad. It was only a question of when. And Brand’s words only confirmed Ciaran’s earlier ones - this wasn’t her brother.

***

They look around themselves. Part of them has started supplying words - the thoughts of the people, perhaps, or their feelings. Confusion, sorrow, conflicted feelings. _What has happened_ and _Why is he like this_ and _How_. Another part of them expresses sorrow at this, that this is what their old friends are thinking. Their understanding of the world is strange, complex, compounded. They hear and feel for the ones around them, they wish to reach out and help; but they also want a purpose, something to do and work towards, as well as wanting to simply discover and explore and find. It is strange, so different from their past existences.

***

Anders talks with Brand for a long while, before he asks the rest of them to go outside. Soon after that, he follows them, and speaks quietly. “It’s obvious he’s not exactly human, I think. However, the spirits are more calm ones - not like Justice, that react to things in the world and try to change it; these ones are more… selfish? As long as they’re allowed to explore and invent, they should keep stable.” He looks troubled, saying “It’s a wonder he survived at all, really. He could easily have been found by demons and gotten killed or possessed against his will. This merging seems to be by his own volition, knowing or unknowing.”

“How could he have merged unknowingly?” asks Isabela, and it’s something Ciaran wonders too.

“Like I said - we don’t know what effects the raw Fade can have on a person. He’s been there for years by now too; even if he didn’t plan to merge, he might have done so anyway.”

“What will we do with the mirror?” Fenris, now. Ciaran wonders what he means, until Anders answers “I don’t know. It works as a pathway between the Fade and our world now. It might be for the best to destroy it, to make sure demons can't pass through…” He speaks with sorrow. He knows how much Merrill toiled on it, how much love and care and work was poured into it. Merrill’s ears fall, and Isabela holds her.

***

They’ve been sitting there a while, discussing what to do with Brand, when a servant comes over and whispers in Varric’s ear. He sighs, stating “work calls”, and follows the servant out.

***

Varric makes his way to the meeting room, reading the letter the servant hands him. It informs him that Divine Victoria - _the Divine_ \- was going to visit Kirkwall in one month’s time, and would bring with her 50 templars, 10 mages, and a lot of costs. A Divine’s visit would necessitate housing her and her entourage, celebrations, parades, and so on and so forth. And there was the question of how the city would feel about this visit, what the Divine’s intentions were, whether they should even let her in. Five years ago, the city had closed ranks against an attempted visit from templars. Could they, would they do that again? Could they do it against the Divine herself? She claimed she would only bring 50 templars, but who was to say she was telling the truth?

He seats himself in the council chambers. Some of the others are already there - Kallian and Ruaidhrí - the rest are, presumably, on their way.

It takes a short while, but soon they’re all gathered in the council chamber. Varric may be the Viscount, but these are the people of the city, the people Brand trusted to lead Kirkwall in his absence, and Varric has found their advice is usually sound.

“I assume you all know the news about the Divine” he opens, when everyone’s seated. The others nod, quiet, thoughtful. “Well. What are your thoughts, then?” He can mostly guess, but it’s good to have them out there all the same.

“Can we risk it?” asks Vatashkaari, a deep, slow rumble.

“Can we risk _not_ letting the Divine and her people in?” replies Ruaidhrí, scratching his red beard. “I mean, imagine the risks involved in potentially insulting her.”

“We can’t just let templars into the city just like that though, can we?” answers Alim, long ears twitching worriedly. He hadn’t been at their mercy long - only three years, before the mess that was Meredith - but it was enough to leave its scars in him. Even the templars of the watch would worry him, though he had known their faces for years now, knew they meant well.

“We can’t really stop them, either. It’s a grave insult to refuse a Divine, and our own andrastians would likely show their displeasure quick enough when the word got out. And it would.” Eileen is the oldest on the council, cautious but strong, tempered with years and years in the circles of Kirkwall and Ferelden both. 

“It’s a big question. And something else has put a stick through the wheels.” Varric looks around the table, before saying it. “Brand is back.” The others start asking questions all at once, _When_ and _How_ and _Why haven’t you told us before_. He waits until they settle down a little, then plows on. “He came through the mirror Merrill restored, an hour or two ago. We snuck him up here; we were still looking him over when I got the letter about the Divine.” He looks down at his hands, folded together on the table, and says “The thing is… He’s not the same as he was when he left. According to Anders and Justice, he’s merged with several spirits, to the point where they can’t be separated without killing Brand. He’s not like Anders and Justice either, where they can switch it up to some degree. He and the spirits are one.” Varric looks up from the table again, at the others. They all look deeply troubled at his words, Vat and the mages especially. “So there you have it.”

The others mull it over for a long time. Eileen is the first to speak, asking “Can we see him?” Varric has to think it over for a while, before stating “I’ll ask the others. It’s just as much their business as it is ours.” The council agrees easily enough, and Varric excuses himself to go and ask.

***

The dwarf returns from wherever it went. It talks quietly with the other people; Brand can sense their emotions. Something about other people wanting to see Brand, wanting to know _why, why were the other people told_ ; worry and anger and fear and pain. They feel part of them wanting to soothe the bad feelings, tease out happiness again.

The dwarf turns to them, asking “Can you come with me, please?” quietly. Brand rises and follows it easily. They walk through several hallways, ending up in a room with a round table, where five people sit. One chair stands empty, and the dwarf seats itself there. Brand can sense the magic in two of the people, a young-looking elf and an old human. Part of Brand senses the room, senses curiosity and sorrow and wariness around them.

***

Varric brings Brand back to the council chambers. The others, when they see him, look troubled. He still glows, ley lines painted starkly against skin, energy humming around him. Varric has no doubt Eileen and Alim can sense the spirits and the magic - though you would have to be a fool to not be able to tell something was up with Brand. For a long while nobody says a word, only study Brand.

“What’s your name?” asks Kallian, finally. Brand tells the council as he did Anders, that his name is Brand. It takes him less time now, though still longer than most people. He doesn’t say anything more, so Alim asks “Who are you.” His voice is filled with sorrow, mourning; of everyone in the council, Alim was likely closest to Brand. Brand had been the one to teach him how to rule and make decisions, seeing even then the potential in the young elf. He is growing into it well now, growing into responsibility and leadership. Come Eileen’s death, Alim will be the one responsible for the mages.

“We are many who are one, the fabric of the Fade and the world.” Not exactly a helpful answer. Not to Varric, at least. It might be helpful to the mages, though.

“A merging of the Maker’s children - the first and the second - then?” asks Eileen. She has the Chantry writings near memorised, after her time in the Circle. Although, most people know _that_ story. Brand seems to mull it over a long while, before finally replying “Yes.”

Eileen nods thoughtfully at the answer, as Ruadhrí asks “So not really human anymore, then”. Brand merely repeats himself, and Ruadhrí looks even more troubled.

“Can I speak with the council in private?” he asks, and Varric leads Brand out, instructs him to sit on the bench outside and wait, before Varric returns inside. Once everyone’s seated again, Ruadhrí asks “Do we know if this is even safe?” Varric’s shoulders drop, and he answers a tired “No,” he rubs a hand over his face. “no, we do not. The only previous case we know of like this is Anders, and even then, that was only a single spirit. This, with Brand, is at least five spirits.”

“Well then,” Kallian leans forward, “what should we do?”


End file.
